Discombobulated

Last week, a post on a message board made me angry.

That's not unusual. But this post didn't involve my usual trigger subjects of homeopathy, Ryan Seacrest, or teen paranormal romance. The post was about words. I love me some words.

This guy, this... troll, claimed that some words are "unnecessary". The words he chose to accuse of superfluity: copacetic and discombobulated. His argument: they're hard to pronounce, "sound stupid", and other words can easily be used in their place.

Okay. Come on. First of all, they sound fantastic. Saying "discombobulated" out loud just now is the most fun I've had all day. Give it a shot, you'll enjoy it. Secondly, if you think "copacetic" is hard to pronounce, try some of the easy beginner words on for size, like "lamb" and "knife".

As for those other words that could be used in their place: forgive me, but isn't that the entire point of synonyms? Having slightly different ways to say the same thing? If you kill off synonyms and antonyms, you end up in a world of emotionless Orwellian Newspeak, devoid of nuance and tone. That's a boring damn world and I don't want to live there. We're talking doubleplus ungood here, folks.

Yes, I could use "bewildered", "taken aback", or "rattled" in the place of "discombolulated" and the meaning wouldn't change. The words all have a very similar denotation in that they all mean "confused and upset". But they've each got their own connotation, which is the connections your mind makes to other words and feelings when you read them. When I'm writing a silly story and a character is approached by a wizard who hands him a magic hat and tells him he's destined to save the world, I may say he's discombobulated by the encounter. If I'm writing a serious story and someone's being told that the man she's been married to for a decade has a secret life and a second family overseas, I may say she's rattled by the news. I know I would be!

I will grant that sometimes fancy-pants words get used unnecessarily in the place of simpler ones. Not everyone in every novel needs to have creamy alabaster skin, and sometimes the sky is just blue. Not cerulean or aquamarine or azure. Sometimes blue will do. Simplicity is generally the best rule. That's not to say that fancy words don't have their place. I use many a highfalutin word when the mood strikes and I feel like it conveys what I want it to. Sometimes you need to break out some discombobulation, and that's just copacetic with me.

But people who utilize "utilize" when they could totally be using "use"? Beatings. Beatings for all.

Cheer Bear

Cheer Bear isn’t the pretty pink she used to be. Her fur is flat and smells of old closets. Her seams are strained, and her stuffing is lumpy. The rainbow embroidered on her tummy is worn after many years’ worth of nights spent hugged to my chest as I told her stories.

1983

She came into my life on my third birthday. It was 1983, and Care Bears had just been introduced. My parents selected soft pink Cheer Bear for me, and my siblings received their own carefully-chosen Care Bears in the next few years. My sister’s Wish Bear was a pale minty green, and he wore a bright shooting star that could be wished on again and again. My brother was the youngest, and so waited the longest for Funshine Bear and the smiling yellow sun on his plush tummy. We eventually got more Care Bears as gifts from family and from Santa Claus, but those were the first three, the ones who spent the nights with us in the small bedroom we all shared before we moved to the big house in Saint-Lambert.

For years, I dragged Cheer Bear with me almost everywhere. She enjoyed Easter ham at Grandmaman’s and giggling sleepovers with my friends. I only ever left her at home when my family went on vacation. My wise decision not to bring her to Niagara Falls spared me much heartache. As it was, I spent half of my trip home moping in the back seat of the minivan, upset that my cruel and unfeeling parents wouldn’t turn around to retrieve Racky Raccoon, whom I’d left under a hotel bed. Had it been Cheer Bear under that bed, I’d have been inconsolable. I missed Racky, of course, but I would have mourned Cheer Bear as only a seven-year-old can.

Over the years, the paint slowly wore off of her bright eyes, burdening her with sad teddy bear cataracts. Her nose faded too, but Mom touched it up with nail polish now and then. Once a bright strawberry pink, the little plastic heart is now glossy with two coats of Revlon’s “Fuchsia Fever”. Her little arms are stubbier than they used to be, because being constantly swung by the arm isn’t healthy for a teddy bear. Both arms needed to be stitched back into place more than once when they dangled from their seams.

As I got older, so did Cheer Bear – she faded, lost her softness. I stopped bringing her to sleepovers, stopped telling her about my day. But she remained in my life. She stayed by my side as my parents divorced and I moved from home to home, apartment to apartment, getting used to new bedrooms and new nighttime noises. She followed me to Maryland, securely packed in a bag of my winter clothes, and found herself carried to bed by her arm and hugged every night as I adjusted to living on my own. She’s in my closet now, nestled on a shelf above my sock bin, where I see her every day. Some nights, when the world scares me and I’m three years old again, I take her down and hug her to my chest, so she can remind me that it’ll be okay.

2012

Marian Call Adventure Quest: The Quests!

Marian Call's album release happened this week, which means the Adventure Quest game is completed and my entries submitted for her consideration. As promised, I will share my entries with you, along with explanations when necessary. The instructions for the Quests are taken (and abbreviated, for the most part) from Marian's European Adventure Quest website. The Quests mostly involved commenting on an album review or a blog entry about Marian's music. I've cut most of those out of the instructions because this post is getting tremendously long and my cut & paste was dropping the links.

 

TASK THE FIRST: WORDS IN CHAINS

The first word of your comment must begin with the last letter of the last word in the previous comment. All of the words in your comment should begin with the last letter of the previous word.

Example: “I imagine every young gopher requires starch heretofore.” But you should write about the music, of course.  Ready? GO!

This was harder than I thought it would be, and my entry is pretty short. (I'm "Jennifer" or "Jen" in these screencaps).

 

TASK THE SECOND: TABOO

Your comment, however, may not contain the letter M or the letter C — yet it must be at least twenty words long.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to comment about Marian Call's album release when you can't use "music" or "album" or "record" or "CD", or even the woman's name?

TASK THE THIRD: ELEMENTALLY, MY DEAR WATSON

Here are your guidelines today: your comment must include, in order, the letters in the abbreviations for the elements of the periodic table.  First H, then He, then Li, then Be, and so on.

The letters do not have to begin words, they can be anywhere within a word — your first H doesn’t have to begin a word, and He could be in the middle of “the” — but every letter pair must be preserved. You cannot separate the L and the I in Lithium, for example.  Where you have two letters that don’t go together so well, such as Mg or Zn, you may use a space between them — but never shall they be separated.  Dig as deep as you like into the periodic table, only a few elements or dozens of them.

I had to have the periodic table open in a second window as I was writing this one. I finished it, was ready to submit it, but after a quick review I realized I'd completely skipped Titanium and had to rewrite half of it. (My submission is at the very bottom)

TASK THE FOURTH: FOUND IN TRANSLATION 

Write a short but very positive thought. It can be directed at the album release, a lyric from the song you most connect with, a note for the folks in the US and around the world currently needing electricity and gas and food and health care, or encouragement for the crying child who wants the election to end – it can be anything, long as it’s sincere and not snarky.

Copy and paste your happy thought into http://translationparty.com. Choose your favorite permutation of the translation (doesn’t have to be the final equilibrium post) and post it at this album review from the UK if it’s about the music.

This one was easy. I had a purring Mojo on my lap when I opened up these instructions, and that's a terrifically happy thought right there.

TASK THE FIFTH: ACOUSTIC ACROSTIC

Write a comment in which each word of the comment starts with the consecutive letters of a Marian Call song title, (E.S.B. might be “Excellent song, bro”). Create an acrostic with your comment from the name of any MC song you choose. Longer song titles will of course make for longer comments.

I chose her songs "Got to Fly" and "Free Bird".

TASK THE SIXTH: PICTIONARY

Have a listen to a little Something Fierce over on the American Songwriter live stream page. Grab a piece of paper or a post-it note — or, if you’re waiting in a long voting line, use a phone app or draw on the back of the upright citizen in front of you. Illustrate your interpretation of a lyric or image from one of these songs:

“The Avocado Song”

“Dear Mister Darcy”

“I Wish I Were a Real Alaskan Girl”

“Coffee by Numbers (Faon’s Song)” 

I chose to go with the obvious pun and use the lyric "You're my Avocado, Baby". I drew a baby avocado. It's adorable.

TASK THE SEVENTH: TIME FOR PI

Let the digits of pi dictate the number of letters in each word of your comment.  First word gets three letters, next word one letter, next word four — etc.  Zeroes should be punctuation; use commas or periods or semicolons or dashes (you may use punctuation anywhere else too, but you must punctuate where a zero appears).

The last one was nice and easy, just a fun little doodle. But this? Damn, Marian, you made this one tough! Keeping track of which digit I was at was making me crazy, and there's a chance I've missed one and disqualified myself. But I tried! This one is by far the most nonsensical of my comments.

TASK THE EIGHTH: ENTITLED

Leave a comment at least twenty words long. Your sentences much be complete, with subjects and verbs, and they must more or less make sense — but you may use only words from the titles of Marian Call songs. Cover songs are all right, and parenthetical or secondary titles are certainly valid.

My first try didn't have "complete" sentences, so I had to go back and leave a second comment.

TASK THE NINTH: TEA AND POETRY

Your task today is a creative writing assignment. Make some poetry. Rhymed or unrhymed, limerick or haiku or sonnet, song or epic. Your topic: “The bravest thing.” It can be about the bravest thing you ever did or hope to do, or it can be fictional.

Mine was very short, because I wanted to be able to share it on Twitter instead of making a blog post for it.

TASK THE TENTH: THE ULTIMATE ANSWER 

Listen through any Marian Call song (originals only) for the 42nd word. Compose a question for that word, an Ultimate Question of your own, that can be answered only with your word.

Well, I couldn't let that go without acknowledging the Hitchhiker's Guide reference, now, could I? Especially since word #42 in the song "Good Morning Moon" is "ground", opening the door for this:

TASK THE ELEVENTH: THE SUBTLE PLAGIARIST 

Visit Marian’s collaborative music video with Awkward Embraces, a fantastic web series about a nerdy girl who tries her hardest to face the #wretchedhiveofscumandvillainy that is the dating world. Post the video on your Facebook or link it on Twitter, if you like — I would be very much obliged, this is the best possible way to get some NOVEMBER 13TH 2012 buzz (though that part of the task is optional). 

Once that’s done, leave a comment on the video. Your comment must include at least two of these four things: 1) a kind of animal; 2) a color; 3) a food; 4) a place name or specific geographic reference. 

Most importantly, your comment must include each of the last five words in the previous poster’s comment. They do not have to be in order or consecutive, so sprinkle them wherever you like inside your own comment. If you wish, strategically leave five words at the end that you want to inflict on to pass on to the next player.

I took strategy to heart and tried to be evil for the next poor sap, but three other people posted at almost the exact same time as me, so people could choose from those instead. Dang.

Link to the video (worth watching!)

My comment is at the top. I had to use the last 5 words of the post below.

TASK THE ELEVENTIETH: WHAT’S IN ITS POCKETSES? 

Your comment must be in charcter, and it must be a character from one of the works listed below. In character, tell listeners which song from Something Fierce is your favorite and why. We ought to be able to guess your character — you are posing us a riddle — but try not to make it too obvious. Minor characters, like Yellin or the Borg Queen, are less obvious and extra fun. Both book and film interpretations of characters are acceptable. 

• The Lord of the Rings trilogy or The Hobbit 
• The Princess Bride 
• Star Trek: The Next Generation 
• Firefly or Serenity 
• The complete works of Jane Austen

Too obvious, perhaps, but it was so much fun to write!

TASK THE LAST: I’VE GOT A LITTLE LIST 

Today I had a task for you about emailing your local radio stations and things, doing important minion-y work, but in light of some journaling I did on the airplane today I have changed my mind. Today’s task is for and about you. You have been doing enough about me, blogging and posting and all. This one is for you, and for everyone, and I hope you will keep it. You are important to me and I’m thankful for you. 

Choose a Marian Call song title or parenthetical title from Something Fierce. Use the letters of the song title like an acrostic; each letter in order will begin a list item. Create a list for yourself of Happy Thoughts, of things you do that make you truly healthy when you do them — think action words. List only things you enjoy doing, mind, this is not a to-do list. The results should be uplifting, not discouraging, and should include things you already do often as much as things you wish you did more. If it’s not too personal, take a screencap (if your list is digital) or a photo (if your list is on paper) and share it on Twitter using the hashtag #somethingfierce or on your own Facebook page. Feel free to post individual items on Twitter. 

Post the list somewhere you can readily see it, and try to look at it, in an affirming and not discouraging way, on a regular basis — try not to let it become invisible. Remember what you feel like when you do those things for yourself. Double Fierce. 

I'll let my screencap speak for itself.

Writing Assignment #3

There was no writing class last week, because of Hurricane Sandy, so I had two weeks to work on my "character" assignment. I started it and restarted it and walked away from it and got generally very grumpy at it over those two weeks. This is an important story for me. This is the first time I met Michelle, who would go on to be a very dear friend for - holy crap, almost two decades now. I can't swear that this is exactly how it happened. In fact, I'm probably wrong about much of it. But my hope is that the essence of that evening comes through anyway. I feel like I had to wrestle this one onto the page!

Michelle gave me her blessing to post this.

Meeting Michelle

The beat faded. Movement in the room slowed. Costumed dancers glanced around for a cue, shuffling their feet, ready for the next song. The first notes of a Bon Jovi power ballad began over the last of the pumping bass, and the crowd diffused. Boys gathered by the long tables folded against the wall, and girls huddled near the foggy windows. The school's few established couples moved to the center of the cafeteria to rock back and forth, hands an arm's length away on each others hips or shoulders. 

I sighed. The glass of the window was cold on my back.

“God, will they stop playing these slows?” Melissa huffed. “Nobody dances to these stupid things and they keep playing them.” She watched the boys' side as she said it, her eyes dancing around as she tried to avoid staring directly at Mike. He was oblivious to her gaze, as usual.

I rolled my eyes at her.

“Whatever, Mel, if you're not going to ask him, it's your own stupid fault you're stuck over here.”

She glared at me.

“I'm not stuck anywhere. I'm going to buy a drink.”

Obscured by the dark haze of the dance floor, we played our assumed characters with a measure of confidence, but under the fluorescent lights of the canteen area, our careful makeup and our homemade costumes seemed amateurish. I adjusted my pink poodle skirt, moving the fluffy white poodle appliqué back to the right side. Mel twisted her hairsprayed curls and straightened the headband holding up her devil horns.

The price list was fixed to the canteen kiosk with wide blue strips of painter’s tape. Brightly-markered bubble letters announced the going rates for drinks, chips, and chocolate bars.

“I'll get us some Cokes,” I said, reaching into my purse for some money. “You can owe me.”

The girl running the canteen wasn’t wearing a costume. She stood expectantly in the little kiosk, waiting for my order. I recognized her as the new girl, who had appeared in the halls at the start of the school year, but couldn’t remember her name. She didn’t share any classes with me, so we’d never spoken.

“Two Cokes, please,” I asked, putting three loonies on the counter.

Mel poked me in the ribs. I glared at her and sighed loudly.

“Aaaand a bag of Doritos.” I added a another dollar.

The canteen girl had our Cokes out of the cooler and the chips on the counter in a flash, and handed me back my change – two quarters.

“Nice costume,” she offered. “Where did you get that skirt?”

“Thanks,” I replied, “my Mom threw it together.”

In fact, Mom had put so much effort into my costume that she’d even used a gold-tone chain from her own jewelry box as the poodle’s sparkling leash.

Mel popped open her Coke and took a sip, and we all stood there for a second, unsure who was supposed to say what next. At that moment, the volume of the music in the next room jumped up a little, and canteen girl turned her head towards it excitedly.

“Aw man, it’s the Twist! Somebody’s gotta come and dance with me!” She looked at Mel and me, hopeful.

Mel shrugged and popped a chip into her mouth, crunching. I looked at canteen girl and raised my eyebrows, gesturing to my white sweater, wide, tulle-puffed skirt, and crisp white socks and sneakers.

“Ummm…” I offered, “Duh!”

We were probably the only ones on the dance floor – I don’t recall. All I remember is the way my sides ached from my vigorous Twisting, and how my arm almost jerked out of its socket when canteen girl and I tried to get fancy with a twirl. We went up and down and round and round until the DJ moved on to something else, leaving us to pant our way back to the canteen.

“That was so much fun!” Canteen girl smiled at me. She held out her hand. “I’m Michelle.”

 

A Limerick for a Mythbuster

Here's my best effort, just for fun. It doesn't fit on Twitter, or I'd just post it there.


This Mythbuster suddenly died
When a pumpkin into his head flied.
Instead of a wake
His body was baked
Because his poor head had been pied.


Edited to add: Silly me, not yet used to Twitter. You split it up into multiple tweets, of course! And I even did that part wrong. Sigh. Don't judge the newbie! Oh well. I'm leaving it here because I think it's pretty good.

Writing Assignment #2

This week's assignment was a challenge for me. I'm glad, as that's why I signed up for a class - if I'm not challenged, I'm not improving or learning. The homework was to show the class a character, and to use dialogue to help paint a better picture. I hate dialogue. It's hard. Making story people sound like real people has always been the weakest area in my writing. Either they sound stiff and artificial, or everyone sounds like me, and neither of those makes for a particularly compelling bit of writing.

I decided to use a bit of my recent tribute to my grandmother, and convert it into a short scene with dialogue. This way, I also took on the challenge of rewriting a piece in a new way. My teacher recommended that exercise last week after the class heard my piece about the elephants. My classmates thought it seemed too calm and detached for its subject matter, and that the story was emotionless. I'm disappointed, because my goal was to express how surreal the moment was, and I liked the end result. What did you think of it? I'd really appreciate more feedback, if anyone wants to speak up, for good or for bad. Eventually, I will rewrite the elephant story with more excitement and expression, just for the practice, but this class is short and I don't want to present the same story two weeks in a row.  

Here's what I'll be sharing with my class this week.

A Cuppa Tea with Momo

I settled in at the kitchen table, nudging the cat from her nap on the seat cushion. Momo stood by the stove, whistling teakettle in hand, and turned to me as I tucked my purse under the chair.

"Shall I make us a cuppa?"

I opened my mouth to decline the offer, but thought better of it. To decline a cup of tea from Momo was to invite an offer of half a cup.

"Sure," I answered her in what I hoped was an enthusiastic voice, "I'd love some tea."

She turned back to the stove and poured the boiling water over the tea bags in her old Corningware teapot and hummed to herself about what one ought to do with a drunken sailor early in the morning. She lined up two mugs on the counter and very carefully poured the hot tea into them, using a bent finger to guide the teapot's spout. Her tea was always served in sturdy, sensible coffee mugs - never a dainty China teacup for my Momo.

She placed my full mug of tea on one of the woven placemats as she eased herself into the chair across from me, sighing with a smile as the weight came off her tired feet.

"One lump or two, my dear?" She took the sugar bowl in one hand as she lowered the spoon into it, and then shifted her hand to hold her mug as she brought the spoon full of sugar towards it. She clinked the spoon around to mix it in, then reached towards my cup.

"I got it, Momo," I said, gently taking the spoon from her hand and adding my own sugar.

The radio by the window was tuned to the CJAD talk station, and she reached over to turn the volume low so we could enjoy our tea. The calendar on the wall nearby was turned to the right month, I noticed. My aunt was doing a good job keeping Momo organized. Some of the large-print dates were circled in bright red marker. Doctor's appointments? Birthdays? There wasn't room in the boxes on the calendar for all her notes, which found their way onto Post-its and scratch paper stuck to the wall and countertop, everything in bold black marker so her eyes could make sense of the letters later.

"Have you had lunch yet?" She raised a fluffy white eyebrow in inquiry and placed her hands on the edge of the table to help push herself up.

"Oh, Momo, don't worry about me. Please, just tea is fine." I held up my cup with a smile to prove it.

She ignored me, standing with a quiet "oof" and walking towards the fridge to have a look inside. She pulled the door open decisively, rustling the scribbled reminders held onto the surface by round rainbow magnets.

"I've got some yogurt," she said,  holding out the cup to show me. I could make out a blueberry on the label, peeking out from between her fingers. When I made no response, she turned back, burying her head in the fridge, and called out "Carrots! I've got some carrots and there's got to be some dip in here somewhere! What do you like, ranch? Or how about a nice toasted tomato sandwich?"

"Momo, really," I protested. "I'm okay. I'm not hungry. Come drink your tea!"

Unconvinced, she moved to the pantry and moved things around on the shelves until she pulled her hand back out clutching a yellow box.

"May Wests!" She shook the box and the snack cakes rustled inside. I sighed.

"Okay, I'll take one."

Triumphant, she tore open the box, pulled out a cake, and plunked it down in front of me with a grin. She waited as I ripped open the cellophane and took my first bite.

"So," she began, cradling her tea in both hands and leaning her rough elbows on the table, "How's work these days?"

Writing assignment #1

This week's writing prompts included "incidents that stand out in my memory", and offered examples of parades and circuses. This event sprung immediately to my mind, and although it's a short piece, I'm going to be happy to present it in class this week.

Elephants on the Nydeggbrucke

On a foggy alpine morning in Bern, my friends and I rose early for a visit to the Barengraben before taking the train up into the mountains for the day. The city still seemed to be asleep. The narrow streets were almost empty of traffic and the sidewalks were bare except for a few early risers clutching steaming cups of coffee. The tall closeness of the buildings in the Swiss capital blocked out much of the surrounding view, so when I heard a commotion coming from somewhere nearby, I couldn't locate the origin of the foreign voices. I rushed ahead, turning a corner and losing sight of my friends.

I blinked. I gaped.

I ran back towards my friends, who were keeping a leisurely pace a block behind me, and I shouted to them.

“Elephants!”

My companions looked at each other, not sure I was sane.

“Elephants!” I repeated, racing back to the main road for another look.

We gathered on the damp sidewalk with other bleary-eyed tourists and confused locals, to watch the elephants walk by. A procession of five huge Asian elephants was being led down the street to cross the Aar river by way of the Nydeggbrucke bridge. There were no banners, no marching band, no circus clowns in giant shoes. Just five elephants, being led quietly down the streets of Bern on a sleepy morning. The elephants wore no costumes or blankets. They didn't walk trunk-to-tail like they do in cartoons. Their legs weren't shackled together, like all of the elephants I'd ever seen performing in the circus. They simply plodded slowly forward, towering into the grey sky, each following the other at a short distance. Men who I supposed were their trainers walked alongside the beasts, holding riding crops in their hands to correct their course if necessary.

I don't know where the elephants came from, or where they were going – I only spoke enough German to order bratwurst and beer, so I didn't think to ask anyone around me for an explanation of what I was witnessing. Given the dazed looks of the others on the sidewalk, though, I suspect everyone was as confused as I was.

We followed the silent parade across the bridge and watched them walk on into the morning as we stopped at the bear pit to eat our pastries.

My Class

I took a big step outside of my comfort bubble last night. Ever since I escaped shift work and started my new day job, I've been muttering about taking a class of some sort. Frustrated with my endless procrastination, I dedicated an afternoon to searching the internet for online professional certificate courses to push my career along, but became discouraged when I found that legitimate courses are very expensive. But I was tired of always saying I wanted to do something, and never doing it, so I decided to start small instead of giving up. Baby steps aren't much, but they're better than standing still. I registered for a writing class at the community college.

My first class was last night. I wasn't given any information beyond the name of the high school where the classes were held, so all I brought with me was a good pen and a slightly-used yellow spiral notebook, figuring that I'd at least have the basics covered. Notebook in hand, I stepped nervously through the front door to the school and was greeted by a helpful volunteer who showed me to my classroom.

The desks were tiny, arranged in three neat rows facing a chalkboard half-filled with a teacher's precise handwriting. I saw that the class was reading and analyzing Nathaniel Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, and I smiled to myself, thinking it was probably just as well that I never had to read that one at school, or I wouldn't  have enjoyed it. Sometimes, reading too much into a book takes all the joy out of reading the book.

I was alone at first, twenty minutes early on purpose so that tardiness wouldn't add to my anxiety. The door was behind me, hidden at the end of a short hallway, so each time I heard the click of a new student arriving, I had to turn and wait to see who would appear. One by one, my five classmates came in and chose their seats. It's a very small class - only six women - and I am by far the youngest student. It feels strange to be taking a class about memoir and legacy writing when I'm not really old enough to have much of a life story, especially when I'm sitting there beside women in their seventies and eighties who have done so many incredible things.

When the teacher asked us to introduce ourselves and tell her why we were taking the class, I told everyone that I'm a Canadian import who came here for love, and that I love to write and want to learn more about it so that my blog will be better and maybe someday I'll write down my family's interesting stories for my grandchildren to read. I then had to explain a "blog" to my oldest classmate.

I hope I like the class, and I hope I do well. It's not for credit, but I will feel better if I can notice a difference in my writing, or at least in my approach to writing, by the end. We do writing exercises and share our work, which terrifies me. How strange that I can put my work online and not feel anxious about how it will be received, but reading a paragraph to the class makes my voice tremble. But it's not a challenge if it doesn't push me, so I'm going to do my best.

The first bit I read aloud to the class was the result of the teacher's instructions to find an important moment in my life and write about it for ten minutes. No other guidelines, just put something on paper and share it. I wrote about my first date with my husband, and while I would definitely go back and polish it up before presenting it to the world as an example of what I can do, it made the class laugh, and writing it made me happy.

I'm not sure whether I will, or whether I even should, share the results of my writing exercises with the internet. Who wants to read my memories, anyway? The important thing is that I followed through on a goal I set for myself, and I'm trying to be creative and find a way to grow a little. Wish me luck.